Gravity
by taigasanchez
Summary: Isabella Swan's boss has just handed over his entire firm to his son, a son that she's never met until the day she crashes into him-literally. She gets out of the sticky situation with quick wits but is it enough? P.S. This story was written for fun, it's meant to be a laugh and a half and I'm sure it wont get very much attention so this is probably going to be the only chapter.
1. One

**One**

I knew that day would be a disaster as soon and I struggled to hit my alarm clock and rolled out of bed—effectively crushing my elbow against the nightstand when I hit the cold carpet floor colored very ironically blue—as my personality would proceed. I struggled to push myself to my feet and get ready so that I could get out the door, but instead I dropped all of my casework into the dirty dish water and lit the hem of my blouse afire with the burner of my stove while leaning over the stove to make breakfast, leaving it singed and leaving me having to change for the second time in one morning. The car ride to my office firm was torturous—every single green light seemed to flicker orange and then red as if right on cue for me, and I found myself gently hitting my head against the steering wheel at each stop, silently cursing the world—I was going to be late for work. I was never late for work—I made it a very oblivious and involuntary trait to be extremely earlier than necessary.

When the building finally came into view I glanced at my wrist-watch which read 7:55 and heaved a sigh at the fact that I wouldn't be terrifyingly late. Within the blink of an eye—no, more like a flinch of the lid—my seatbelt was strangling me with all of its might, and my forehead was at the steering wheel once again, but for a different purpose, and this time it actually hurt. God damn it—I'd rammed into someone from behind. My airbag hadn't deployed so I made the analysis that the accident couldn't be too bad. I peeked up from the wheel to see cars weaving their way through the mess I had made, continuing about their business as the traffic continued to build up and subside in layers behind me. Loud car horns and various angry south-eastern accents filled the spaces in between. When I caught sight of the car that I hit and made note of how expensive-looking it was, I put my head back down.

I peeked up once again and there was a very expensive-looking man standing just outside of the expensive-looking car, yelling furiously into his cell phone. When he glanced at me, he did a double take, storming over to my car door and slinging it open.

"Never mind, Pete, she's not unconscious." He spat angrily into his cell phone and ended the call. "Get out." He hissed at me. I undid my seatbelt timidly and stepped rather ungracefully out of the car and onto the bumpy graphite of the cracked road, stumbling in my $4,000 Giuseppe Zanotti skyscrapers. He helped to balance me and I steadied myself quickly.

"Are you alright?" He asked, scanning me for any lesions or bruises. I said nothing, too embarrassed to even look him in the eye. "Hello?" He asked, clearly irritated. I couldn't do this now—I had a meeting in less than 30 minutes with the board that would ultimately shape my future at Cullen and Holdings., and it quickly flickered into my mind that I left my license on the kitchen counter at home. Glancing over to my car and then his, I saw that there was very minimal damage done—only a few scuffs on my white Hyundai and a small dent on the bumper of his shiny jet-black. . . I figured it was a Fisker.

I swallowed, finally craning my neck up to meet his eyes. When I caught sight of what my eyes set on, my breath hitched in my throat. A man that of a God stared very aggravated down to me. His prestigious demeanor emanated from his body like an aura. Beautifully shaped hazel-green eyes gave me a very rude once-over, and then rolled to the back of his head. He ran his hands through his messy-but-perfect thick brown hair and sighed in disgust. I couldn't help but stare at him. He was purely unreal—unreal as in a person like him should not be a tangible thing, but a comic book character or your favorite Barbie doll. His square jaw and sharp nose were typical—it didn't take much analyzing to realize that women fall face-forward over a guy like this. All I wanted to do in that moment was to pull his face down to mine and taste the inside of his mouth.

His sumptuous voice snapped me much too quickly out of my reverie. "Look, this could go a lot quicker if you just—"

An idea sparked in my mind—probably the craziest idea I've ever had in my life. Before this moment I've never done anything so absurd—but I had no choice. "_Siento—no entiendo_." I murmured, and his eyes began to bulge out of his sockets, but his demeanor quickly returned, and he shifted from foot to foot rather uncomfortably. He inhaled until his chest puffed up to his chin, and then exhaled slowly, releasing one decimeter of breath at a time. When he pinched the bridge of his nose, I couldn't look at him anymore. My eyes were darting all over the vicinity as if trying to find an answer for every phenomenon in the universe all at once. I thought he'd caught me.

"_Haces tiene—_uh—" He snapped his fingers, searching for the word. "S_eguro_?" I put my hands up defensively—I knew exactly what he was asking, and he said it very clearly, but I continued to play dumb.

"Ah—_No entiendo que hablas, siento. Pero puedo llamas si quieres, o no._" I stammered in a perfectly fluent Spanish accent, backing away from him and into my car. I'd never been so grateful for my 4 years of Spanish in high school in all of my life.

The man stood stock still outside of my car, staring incredulously at me as I pulled away. When I parked in the garage and practically sprinted into the elevator with all of my things, I patted myself on the back with a silent victory because I thought—I don't know what the hell I thought then—I just didn't know. I wanted to think that after such a shitty morning—just one thing would go right for me, but no. This was not the Hunger Games, the odds were _not _in my favor—I didn't have myself a Peeta—I died. In more ways than one, I died in that very moment.

* * *

The meeting with the Cullen board was rescheduled to tomorrow afternoon at the last minute because of my unexpected absence. But here's the thing—I was 16 minutes late—and the meeting wasn't scheduled to commence until a little after 8:30. I groaned and bumped my head against the cabinet in the break room.

"What happened, buttercup?" Micah patted my back and cooed softly. I lifted my head and propped it on my hand, my elbow resting on the counter. Her big green eyes flooded with sympathy as she waited for my response, leaning her tiny hips against the tabletop. I puffed my cheeks out and blew my distorted fringe out of my eyes.

"I hit someone this morning." Micah's eyes went wide at my confession, and her hand slowly found her mouth. "—with my car." I added sullenly. She gasped, faking passing out and then laughing hard with her recovery.

"I find nothing about this situation humorous." I deadpanned, pouring coffee into the transparent coffee mug that my brother gave me for my birthday the year before—great gift for your 23rd. Sarcasm.

She patted my shoulder and failed to stop giggling "Too bad that Carlisle is stepping down from his position as chairman—he could have easily gotten you out of that situation." With that announcement, my head snapped over to meet hers, and she jumped when I leaned into her. "What?" I hissed in a deathly tone, looking her square in the eyes. She shakes her head in a what-the-hell-did-I-say gesture. "Carlisle Cullen is resigning and you're choosing to tell me _now_?!"

She shriveled into a raisin and spoke again. "…We all just found out now." She whispered. "Well—it was last minute. The decision was made yesterday night and was announced this morning—you know—when you were late." She said sweetly.

My entire world stops then—Carlisle is leaving. What the hell am I going to do—will the person who is taking over for him keep me as their Personal Assistant as well, or will I from today onward be without a job? Carlisle Cullen gave me my big shot at Cullen Industries, putting all of his faith in me to succeed in his self-made company. Though he was old and damn near senile—he was a good man. I can't possibly see myself working under anyone but him. "Where is he?" I asked her, she just stared at me.

"He's—gone." She says simply, shrugging. "Probably lounging on a beach in the Barbados." I really didn't need puns then.

"Who's taking over for him?" I attempted to calm myself, inhaling and exhaling. She bit her lip and thought about it for a while.

"They didn't say…But you're going to be meeting him or her in like—" She glanced at her watch. "Soon." She said simply, and then took a sip of her coffee. I stared incredulously at her, waiting for the continuation of this baseless conversation. When she failed to respond I groaned like a barbarian and turned around, running out of the break room and to Dr. Cullen's office just down the hall. His extremely large mahogany doors came into my view and then Marcus Lexington's ridiculous mug followed much too quickly after as he suddenly rounding the corner adjacent to my desk. I jumped, squealing like a frightened schoolgirl and the smoldering coffee in my cup spilled onto my hand, causing me to screech like a banshee as a recovery.

"Good morning, Isabella."

"Is it? Is it really?" I asked in a scornful tone, switching the mug from my singed hand to my undamaged one and shaking it out. He took the mug from my hand and set it on my desk, removing a tissue from my tissue box and handing it to me. I wiped all of the steamy liquid from my hand and tossed the paper into the trashcan. "Carlisle—" He interrupted me.

"We're about to meet his son now." My eyebrows pulled together.

"Son?! Carlisle doesn't have a son!" I scoff, shaking my head in amusement.

Marcus' mouth twitches with my response. "Correct—he has four sons—and two daughters." When he said that, my mouth dropped open. I couldn't believe my ears because I knew that he had two daughters Alice and Rosalie—I've met them both—sweet girls, but I didn't have the slightest fucking clue he had not one—but _three_ sons.

"Marcus—what the hell are you talking about?" He shook his head slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his thin lips. I swear that I'd never wanted to punch a man so hard in the face in my entire life. Why the heck was everyone being so damned obtuse that day? Everything was topsy-turvy and I was pissed as hell that I could get a real grasp on anything that was happening—it was as if I'd stepped into an alternate universe.

Marianne Walters stood in front of Carlisle's office doors alongside Levi Cullen's personal assistant John McLane, looking humorously uninterested with everything in the world as usual. Directly in front of John was the skinny blonde chatterbox of the office Lydia Baker, running her mouth away about everything that isn't her business—shocking. When her glance lingered over to me and she did that ground-shattering once-over that she does and then laughed inwardly for no particular reason, the continents must have shifted on their plates because I made no effort to give her the time of day which just isn't like me. Usually I'd have cursed her in my head and flipped her off when she turned around, but I just couldn't deal right then, I was too depressed, and I didn't even know why.

"Alright scumbags—" Marcus clapped to get all of our attention at once. My eyes stayed fixated on the marble floor as he continued in a hushed tone. "Edward Cullen. 26 years old. Stanford graduate with highest honors. He's basically considered a genius in the business world—everyone who is anyone knows of his accomplishments."

"I've never heard of him." Lydia's mouth managed to utter syllables yet again—every single time she found the oxygen in her already shriveled lungs to speak it amazed me like a child is amazed with having a coin pulled from behind their ear.

"Well you do now, bitch. Isn't it amazing how that works out, hm?" Marcus spits out in an irritated tone, and Lydia flips him off before rolling her eyes. Marcus ignored her and continued. "Here's how this is going to work—he's going to examine every single one of us today because we're the most immediate workers that he has. If he doesn't like you—he'll fire you in a nanosecond. Get it? Don't piss him off, don't get too anxious, don't make him feel uncomfortable. He's a very elemental guy, and I'm scared shitless of him already."

"You've seen him?" Marianne scoffs quietly, leaning in closer to Marcus.

He nods. "Yes. I have." We all gasp like a bunch of teenagers at his confession—all except for John who once again looks like he couldn't give two fucks if the sky came crashing down to our feet right now.

"What does he look like?" She leans closer.

"You'll see." He winks, positioning himself in front of Carlisle's—I mean Mr. _Edward _Cullen's door and knocking firmly just above his head.

I hear a deep, calm voice echo from the inside. "Come in." Marcus didn't hesitate, quickly pushing the double doors open and stepping aside for our clearance. All four of us filed into the office one by one like kindergarteners and lined up in front of his desk like prisoners of war. His back was to all of us and he was looking out of his crystal floor to ceiling windows that perfectly assonated the beautiful dusking New York skyline as they always do. He was wearing a crisp white pressed shirt rolled up to his elbows, allowing his masculine arms to press through the thin fabric of his shirt, and black espresso dress pants—both were brilliantly tailored to fit his exquisite physique. His blazer was draped across Carlisle's large black leather Bahaus desk chair.

It took me all of three seconds to recognize this thick messy mop atop his head. My heart plopped into my stomach, and I prayed and wished and conjured every being I knew of—deliberating how much luck I would have if it would just ._him_.

He turned around slowly, and my life slowly fell apart around me and I wanted to cry, run, scream. So many emotions hit me at once as he scanned over the lot of us one by one. When his brilliantly tinted eyes fell onto me, my jaw tightened, and I only could hear the cavity clenching sound of my teeth grinding in my ringing ears. I expected all hell to break loose, empires to crumble, cities to fall, but instead his gaze remained impassive and then moved away from me, not even the slightest gesture of his recognition of me. I would have actually thought that he'd never seen me before in his entire life had the following events not occurred.

Marcus cleared his throat and began to speak. "This is Marianne Walters, your receptionist." Marianne curtsied like the dainty flower she was. "Lydia Baker, your personal administrator." Lydia's huge, ass-kissing smile could have burn holes through the man, and when he didn't make any effort to smile back I had to suppress the laughter dancing inside of my larynx. Instead he simply crossed his arms over his wide chest and raised an eyebrow to her volcano-flushed mug. She was so obviously attracted to him, and thinking back on it now—I couldn't blame her in the slightest bit. He was truly what perfection strived for, he was disconcerting.

"You've already met John, I'm sure. He's your uncle's personal assistant." Marcus gestured to John and John gave Mr. Cullen a tight nod. "And finally—" I suddenly forgot how oxygen works, or more over how to actually utilize it. "Ms. Swan, _your_ personal assistant." I flinched when he finally said my name.

"Pleasure to meet you." I whimpered like a spineless loser, nodding and keeping my eyes to the floor where they belong.

I heard a small chuckle resonate through the room then, and when I looked up, his eyes were boring into my flesh, but he wasn't angry—he was amused as hell. "So you _do_ speak English?" My cheeks heated with ferocity, and I knew that at that point I was _some_ shade of red, just didn't know which.

"You two have met?" Marcus asks, baffled with our conversation.

Mr. Cullen settled into the desk chair and leaned back, resting his chin on his cupped hands. He waited a while before he finally spoke. "Miss Swan and I have quite a bit a history you could say." He sneered, and I snickered. Does he consider me hitting his half-million dollar car and then driving off history? What a strange dude.

"Is there something funny, Miss _Swan_?" He mumbles under his breath.

"No, sir." I shook my head. "I'm sorry for laughing." I tried to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but it was too prominent, and he knew that it was there because his entire mood shifted from amused to enraged within the blink of an eye.

"Get out." He hissed, and I couldn't hide my astonishment. I turned, and began to walk out of the room. "Not you!" I turned back around to meet his irritated expression; he was looking around at everyone else. They were all just as stunned as I was, but they didn't argue. They all filed back out of the room like children once again, and when the doors were closed it was just him, I and the sound of busy cars below us bouncing off the dark gray walls of his office.


	2. Two

**Enough with the PM's, you pulled my leg. Here's the second chapter of my accidental story Gravity. Hope you enjoy. And to my FSOP readers, I'm going to start working on the next chapter in a few weeks. (:**

* * *

**Two**

I tried to block out Micah's excessive bawling as I shoved the remnants of my desk into the cardboard box that sat so mockingly on the edge. I sighed and finally raised my gaze to meet her watery-squinted eyes and groaned when they darted to the floor and her bony shoulders began to quiver.

"Micah, calm down. It's not that big of a deal." My sigh grumbled as I rolled up my desk calendar and shoved it in the box as well and then slid it off the desk and into my roller chair. I exhaled and threw my wavy, dark brown hair over my shoulder and out of the way.

"I—I just can't be—believe that he f-f-f-fired you Bella…" She stammered as she wiped the tears away from her rosy cheeks with the back of her hands. "'T's not f-fair." I clicked my tongue and shook my head once.

"No—what's not fair is the fact that I rear-ended his overly-expensive car, spoke to him like an illegal alien, and then drove away. I mean—what would _you _have done?"

She didn't hesitate. "Laugh!" She hollered, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. "It's freaking hilarious!" I unwilling concurred with her—it wasn't funny. I wouldn't have found it funny in the least bit if I was in his position.

I stared up at the ceiling for a second and then balled my fist up, hitting the side of my head. "Stupid, stupid." My voice was regretful as I attempted to lift the gigantic lug of junk, failing and dropping it almost decimeters away from my exposed toes. It just wasn't my day, and my not-so-light face palm was another token to my misery—my elbow was still throbbing, my favorite blouse was ruined, my car was going to need to be repainted—and that was going to be on hold for a while because _I just lost my job_. How can so many occurrences of sheer awful luck happen in such a chained-sequence? That day wasn't going to get any worse is what I thought—it was my definition of some kind of rule I suppose. But of course not—that wouldn't be as fun—would it?

I stared impassively to the floor for what seemed like eternity before Marcus' shiny brown loafers finally came into my view. "Go…_away_." I muttered in a sullen tone, bending down to retrieve my things again. I truly didn't need him at that moment—any of him.

"Can we just put our differences aside for one minute—please?" He said in a contrite tone, snatching the box from my grasp and lifting it with ease. I narrowed my eyes at him in a confused gesture more than a scornful one. "I'm so sorry, Isabella."

"I don't need your pity." I shook my head and began a tug of war with the box.

"Isabella—you can't even hold it—just allow me." He insisted sternly, his voice filled with concern, and his dark brown eyes personified it.

I hesitated at first, but then gave in and let go. "It's a wonder that you can even walk with those ballerina heels on." He rolled his eyes and I ignored him like a good girl.

When he began to walk to the elevator I followed quickly behind him, but stopped just as such and turned to Micah whose world was seemingly collapsing around her. I enveloped her in a bear hug and squeezed her tiny build into mine.

"Good luck." I whispered softly and patted her shoulder like an old war veteran would his great grandchild. She began to cry even harder—so emotional.

"I'll miss ya, Swan." Lydia's high-pitched voice made me jump in fear, and I didn't even bother to turn around—I could feel her 140 mega-watt smile burning holes through me. "Miss ya, miss ya." She chanted quietly to herself as the clicking of her heels faded into the distance. When I was sure that she was gone, I finally turned from Micah's miserable stare and began to walk away.

Others had gathered around Mr. Cullen's office and they were all clearly there because I'd just been fired. Isabella Swan—legendary assistant to Carlisle Cullen himself has just been put in the sack by his son in less than 30 minutes. That's sure to make headlines. _Darn._

I managed to finally scuttle my way through the nosy crowd without having an anxiety attack and settled on the elevator next to Marcus.

Marcus' failed attempts to hit the ground floor button on the elevator pad left me dumbfounded, staring blankly in his direction.

"Err, a little help Isabella?" He groaned as he balanced the box in his arms.

I shook my head and flushed red then. "Sorry." I squeaked and leaned over to punch in the destination.

The ride down was when the realization finally set in. _Fuck_. I'd just been fired. I hadn't been without a job in over 6 years. I had no idea as to what I was going to do from then on. My savings weren't going to last any more than a month or two and job hunting would span on for ages. Forget how qualified and experienced I was-that doesn't mean shit in this industry. Why the hell did this happen to me? _How_ the hell did this happen to me?

_...Right._

* * *

_Mr. Cullen stood from his chair and padded around to the front of his desk, settling on the edge just in front of the leather armchair and gesturing for me to sit._

_"Have a seat, Miss **Swan**." He mumbled almost inaudibly through clenched teeth, my name lingering on his tongue._

_I quickly did as he asked, sitting down gently on the chair as if it was pressure-triggered. He stared at me for a while, not in a begrudging but in a painfully calculating one that wasn't focused on me as a person, but the idea of who I am. It was as if he was playing how this entire conversation was going to proceed in his head all at once. Within seconds his sharp, intelligent eyes bored into mine with more precision-his attention was completely on me now. When he opened his mouth to speak, I jumped to life._

_"I'm so sorry that I rammed into the back of your car." My voice was a booming siren, and he squinted his eyes as his eyebrows pulled together._

_"Could you be any louder?" He said sarcastically, and then rolled his eyes in the same disgust he had when we first met. "I think we both know that, that is **not** the reason as to why I'm upset." He growled with pure docility, and in the most anti-climactic way-my lower waistline clenched. What the heck was with that man? He was scary and impassive all at once, it was so unnerving-and terrifyingly sexy._

_I suffered myself to speak once again. "I was in such a hurry this morning, I was just-" He shushed me softly, shaking his head microscopically. "I-" He held a halting hand up and my mouth snapped shut._

_"You're not very ordinary are you, Miss Swan?" He said rather abruptly, and that made my mouth unlock and drop to the floor. **What the hell?**_

_I couldn't believe my ears. "I beg your pardon?" I scoffed, my eyes blinking furiously. What kind of question was that, and what kind of dick would have the audacity to ask it with a straight face?_

_"My father spoke nothing but great things of you." He said scornfully. "And with all do respect, I believe the only thing he was spot on about was how involuntarily attractive you are. Everything else so far has been proved to me, moot." I had no words then except for 'what the actual fuck' in which I couldn't say less I tarnish my professionalism. I could feel my right eye beginning to twitch. Did he just call me effortlessly attractive? I honestly don't know weather to slap him or thank him. Slap him because it's an extremely inappropriate thing to say in the work place, or thank him because I wan't him to say it again._

_I took a deep breath and bit back all of the overflowing surplus of emotion swelling in my throat. "Sir, **with all do respect**-" I seethed. "I don't believe that you should reflect my entire work performance on the account of my earlier actions. I'm actually a very exceptional employee-" _

_He laughed once, interrupting me. My eyes widened profusely. His good looks were completely unwavering in comparison to his unnecessarily vain stature. He lowered his head to come within eyes length of me and spoke in a dark, sultry, hateful voice. "I beg to differ." The son of a bitch was pushing me to say something-**anything**. "I can already see that you're just another office toy." And that was how I lost all sense of reason for just a split second. This unprofessionally scornful, evil, pretentious, arrogant, presumptuous, contemptuous, gorgeous son of a bitch was, and from that second on would forever be my ultimate downfall, and he knew it because the realization of the fact that I had cracked was etched across his impeccably flawless features. He knew what was about to happen._

_I looked into his deep, endless green eyes and narrowed mine for emphasis. "Fuck you." I said simply. My words were soft and clipped, my mouth twitching into a sarcastic, hateful smile. I wasn't going to take that from this man or any man-it's not how my father raised me. _

_His expression fell in an un-astonished manner, he knew that I was going to say that-exactly that. It was as if we were in a play, and he'd written the script. H__e straightened himself and rose from the desk, padding behind me to his office doors and opening one of them. "Your final paycheck will be in the mail."_

_One **measly** second. It amazes me what can happen in one second. In one second you could physically damage your body, light your shirt on fire, drop your entire weekends work in the dish water, have a car accident, or even get fired. And that's what happened within the second those words rolled off my tongue-I was fired._

_I stood, and brushed past him with my fists balled at my sides, not bothering to make eye-contact. When I was out of his office I felt the wind of his doors shutting hard push me forward slightly. _

_Crap._

* * *

I covered my face and began to breathe deeply. I don't regret what I said, I regret that I didn't say more because was going to fire me no matter what. My cursing him was just that tiny little push he needed so that he would feel more fulfilled with his decision. If I didn't have bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all.

"Happy Monday." Marcus murmured over to me sarcastically.

I removed my hands from my face and rolled my eyes. "Tell me about it."

When we got to my car I popped the trunk and he carefully lowered all of my things inside before closing it. He kept his hands on there for a while and then finally looked over to me. He opened his mouth to speak and then quickly closed it again, his big blue eyes facing heavenward. "You're an extraordinary person Isabella. One of the best that this company has seen in a long, long time." To this day I still couldn't believe that he said that to me. "I give it three days-a week tops, before he realizes how valuable you are to Cullen Industries. He'll come crawling to you hands and knees." He nudged my elbow playfully, and I just stood there dumbfounded. He took both of my shoulders in his hands and squeezed softly. "Good luck, kiddo." He half smiled and then just as quickly as his words came, he was gone.

I shook my head to regain a fraction of intelligence. "What just happened?" I mumbled.

That was it, right? The worse had came and gone.

Wrong.

* * *

I slumped into my apartment and kicked off those ridiculously painful shoes, silently swearing to never wear them again. Why the hell would Jessica insist I wear those things anyways? Don't get me wrong I love heels-just not the ones that crane my ankles out of proportion.

I was just about ready to lie down for a well-deserved rest when my phone chimed. I dug through my purse and pulled it out, rolling my eyes when I read the ID.

"Hello Charles." I mumbled sullenly to my brother through the phone.

"Are you okay Bells? You sound awful." He asked, his voice full of concern.

"Peachy." I replied quickly. "Just a little tired, what's up?"

"I'm sorry that I called you at work." He said apologetically.

I shook my head and bit my bottom lip. "I'm not at work, no worries."

There was a pause at the end of the line for a while. "Why?"

"What did you need Charles?" I egged him to get on to the reason as to why he called so early in the day.

He didn't reply for what felt like hours, and I could feel the weight of whatever he was planning on telling me pushing me farther into the ground as if gravity wasn't a plausible entity.

He took a deep breathe before finally speaking again. "Our great grandfather died this morning in his sleep." He said.

No words. I switched the phone from one ear to the other and tossed my purse onto the sofa, settling on the arm and taking a deep breath. "...I didn't even know we _had_ a great-grandfather." Both of my fathers parents died when I was 7. I didn't know my mothers father, and my grandmother died shortly after. "Who-?"

He answered my question before I even had the chance to ask. "Cornelius Swan." Charlie's grandfather? Charlie never mentioned having a grandfather who was still alive.

"When is the funeral?" I asked calmly, but so many questions were racing through my mind.

"Wednesday-in Vancouver." He replied quickly.

My eyebrows twined together. "Vancouver? As in British Columbia, Vancouver?" Going all the way to Canada for a funeral for a person I didn't even know-and on such short notice as well? What kind of practical joke is this?

I cleared my throat to speak. "I don't think I'll be able to make it, Charles. You understand?"

"No Bella, you have to come."

"Why?"

"You're being summoned to the reading of his will. By law, you have to be there."

What the hell? "I'm in his will?"

"Apparently."

My life was turning into a movie. "I don't believe it."

"That's what the lawyer said."

"What about you?" I interjected him with a new found curiosity.

"No. I am not in his will-just you."

_Why? _I couldn't understand. The gears in my head seemed to stop turning if only for a moment.

"Plus it's a matter of respect Bella, you should be there regardless."

I brought the phone away from my ear and placed in in my cup hands on my lap. I'd mulled over the prospects for a while before finally giving my answer. There were a lot of things to factor in, and then even more to factor out. Number one was that I didn't have a job to go to anymore, number two was that I was supposed to be spending my free time searching for another one, and the final was that either way-I was going to be jobless, and that sad truth was the only push I needed. "I'll be there." I said, and hung up the phone.

"What a fabulous day this has been."

* * *

Vancouver was the exact change of pace that I needed. It was still pretty busy, but not nearly as busy as the big apple, and I found myself smiling at how much more peaceful I felt after such a long, hard start of the week.

The funeral happened bright and early at exactly 6:00am on a Wednesday, and it was an entirely sullen ordeal, there had to have been over 200 people in that endless cemetery, but it felt like 1,000 hearts were there. I had no idea who my great grandfather Cornelius Swan was, but it had become very obvious very quickly that he was very well liked. A woman even threw herself at the coffin as they were lowering it into the ground. My first reaction to that was-and I swear I regret having thought this-if she was trying to steal some of the gold that was carved into the wood of his coffin. Did I mention he was filthy rich? He started Swan Oil Co. back in the 1930's and even though it's been so long his mill hasn't even come close to running dry and he's still receiving buckets and buckets of money by the hour. I couldn't have cared less though-what I was still trying to figure out was who _he_ was. He never sent me a birthday card, never came to visit-and now I'm being told that I'm in his will? What kind of joke is that?

Several people approached Charlie and gave their condolences, patting his back and they might as well have been grovelling for their empathy. Charles and I were approached a few times as well, not as dramatically as Charlie had been, but dramatically empathetic all the same.

The reading of the will happened just as quickly as the funeral ended. It happened on his estate, which was too extraordinary for words-30 acres of land, a mansion the size of my apartment complex with endless fields out front. The grassy plains surrounded a beautiful angel-white fountain in the middle of his terrace. The inside was even more impeccable, honey gold paint warmed the walls and marble floors soft to the touch-the entire place decorated in a very homely manner. Not having to worry about money must be nice, but where does the animosity of your existence lie?

There was a total of _exactly_ 30 people in Cornelius Swan's gargantuan office-built specifically to fit a king as he. I didn't recognize a single person and felt uncomfortably uneasy with the situation as a whole-I felt as if I didn't belong in there. My brother and father were not allowed in, as they were not included in the will, which still left me asking even more questions. There were a lot of things to cover in the will, it was over 50 pages long. Things were given away including his estate, his company (went to his youngest son), even his dog. There were a lot of angry and insulted people when things were being announced, and there were even more irritated screeches when things _weren't_ announced. My name was second to last, and I straightened my back as the crisply pressed blonde lawyer turned his attention to me. He arranged the papers neatly in his hands and began to speak, it had to be three papers at the most, and my heart skipped a beat for no particular reason at the thought.

"...And to my great-granddaughter Isabella Marie Swan, I leave two things," I had never been so confused in my entire life. "First, I leave my deepest apologies. When you were but a baby, I held you in my arms, and I promised that I would be there for you, because I knew that your grandfather could not for much longer. I deliberately avoided you for all of these years in the hope that with my absence, you could find a much better path in life, and your bright light could fill the spaces in between some other old leathers life. You, my dear are one exceptional young woman, and though I have had no time to fill myself with your many achievements thus far I must say that regardless, I am truly, truly proud of you and I trust every decision that you will make from this point on will be with a full-heart and a steady mind." I couldn't suppress the emotion building inside of me. Who was this man, and why the hell didn't I know him-what happened? "This is why I leave you, Isabella Marie Swan, son of Charles Swan and Renée Dwyer, 542 million dollars, my entire life savings from this life-and the next."


	3. Three

Everyone in the room gasped, and then for just a few decades, it was deafeningly silent.

I could feel the their daggers burning into my flesh—I was scared shitless.

"FUCK!" I heard a man screech at the top of his lungs, but I swear it was a whisper to me. All of the blood had rushed out of my head and onto the floor.

I stared dumbfounded at the lawyer as he continued to read what was left of the will, and when he finished he looked to me as if he was saying 'you lucky bitch'. "Wh-what?" I managed to stutter out.

"542 million american dollars." He said simply. "He wants it to be split and transferred into your bank accounts immediately following this reading. There will also be a joint bank account at a larger bank near your home which will be under name as well."

I interjected him quickly. "I-I don't understand."

A woman jumped right in with a rather rude, "Yeah? Well none of us do so join the club." I ignored her snarky remark as I attempted to put the pieces together. I'd just been handed more than I'll ever make in my life—what exactly did that render me?

"I humbly decline." I didn't hesitate with the comment. I wasn't about to take money from a dead man—especially one that I didn't know.

"Irrelevant." The lawyer snapped back to me.

"I beg your pardon?" I couldn't hide my shock.

"The money will be given to you regardless of whether or not you accept it. He made it very clear that you would most likely decline, so he didn't give a backup if you did. Therefore, the money must be handed over to you as it has nowhere else to go. It would be illegal for us to not give it to you, and only you."

I choked on the air a few times, my mouth opened and closed as my brain was trying to form full sentences.

I shook my head. I was so exasperated. "That money...it's not mine to take. I have no right."

The lawyer looked to me as if I had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "The money has been given to you Miss Swan; It's not a matter of what's right or wrong, and it technically _is_ yours."

I was becoming agitated "I don't want it." I said in a the most serious tone I could muster, still completely flabbergasted.

"There is no _want_ here ma'am, it's not optional—the money will be given to you one way or another, you may choose to extort it any way you please." He cut me off with one hand when I opened my mouth to protest again. "...And finally to my youngest cousin Edwin..." He continued with the reading.

I was in complete and utter shock-no-those words just didn't do my emotions justice. I simply didn't know how to handle myself at that point, so I stared at the ground in the hope that somehow the floor would return my sanity.

The reading ended, and we all exited the study where others waited for their friends and family who'd been trapped in there for over 2 hours.

Charlie and Charles picked me out and rushed over to me.

"How'd it go, Bells?" Charlie brushed a stray hair out of my face.

I looked up to him and opened my mouth to speak, but the words got lodged in my throat, and I just could not.

"Are you okay, sis?" Charles patted my shoulder and stared me down hard, he could see that I was slowly falling apart. "What happened in there?"

I sat down in one of the small chairs next to the study and they both crouched down in front of me. God, they were like twins those two.

When I finally collected myself I told them everything...the things that Cornelius said to me, and the big chunk of Manhattan that he practically left me.

"542...million dollars?" Charlie couldn't get a handle on it, and I couldn't blame him for not. I nodded once, and kept my eyes to the ground. "That's a lot of money, Bells." He added.

"You think I don't know that?" I stood up and paced back and forth behind them they were looking at each other as if they'd both seen the same ghost.

Charles stood and turned to me. "What are you going to do with it?"

An idea sparked in my mind. "Give you, dad, and mom all of it." I said as if it was the greatest idea in the entire world.

Charlie shook his head and put his hands on both my shoulders. "This is _your_ money, Bells. We wont accept a dime of it." Charles' head snapped over to my fathers then. Charlie didn't take his eyes off me when he said, "Say nothing, CJ."

And then his full attention was on me again. "Keep it."

"Dad, I don't need it."

"You just lost your job Bella..." Charles chimed in.

My eyes widened when he said that, as did Charlie's.

"You lost your job?!" He whisper-yelled, and my reaction was to glare at Charles.

He shrugged. "Micah told me."

I narrowed my eyes at nothing particular and groaned. "_Micah..._" I mumbled in a scornful tone.

"Don't hate her for it. I squeezed it out of her after you told me that you weren't at work on Monday."

"Now Bells, you _have_ to accept the money."

I threw my hands up. "I don't have a choice! I'm bound legally to accept it." My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

Charlie smiled wide at my proposal. "Good, then we're all fine then." He says, and begins to walk toward the exit hall. I didn't have the energy to protest anymore. I was tired of being in that crappy hotel with the 2-star room service and the dirty sheets. I wanted to be back in my own crappy apartment in my own semi-comfy bed. It was just as equally crappy as the hotel but hell—it was home, and I longed to be back. I would leave as soon as I got back and swear to never take my crappy apartment for granted again.

"You should buy a new car, first. I saw the front of yours when I came to pick you up." Charles nudged me as we walked. "What happened, anyway?"

"Don't ask."

* * *

Friday was a gratifying day, as the end of the week should be, and the events that proceeded were not something that I would have ever expected. Thursday however was a normal day, I got back to my apartment at around 7am and went right to sleep only to wake up a half hour later with nightmares of my new found wealth. I dreamt that I would become...Edward Cullen—the shivers slowly made their way down the length of my spine. Pompous, arrogant, chauvinistic asshole. So consumed by wealth, the bastard probably hasn't worked a day in his life and his toilet paper is most likely hundred-dollar bills. I've actually been debating an answer to if he even knows what a nickel is.

I woke up that Friday at around 8am with a crook in my neck which was typical considering my mattress had springs. The sunlight peeked through my worn and torn window blinds and reflected on my skinny pale legs. Stretching and cracking every kink out of my frail figure, I jumped out of bed as ungraceful as ever but managed not to fall this time and padded to the kitchen for some coffee barefoot, with just my panties and a v-neck snug tee on.

I poured my coffee and watched the refrigerator awkwardly. Some mornings I just couldn't eat, and I didn't know why, but it didn't matter.

Sitting down at the kitchen counter in front of my laptop with my cup of black coffee, I began browsing Yahoo News to occupy myself. The news always had funny but serious satirical articles about how a Swedish man has done something bizarre, and I must have looked like an idiot laughing hysterically at my computer screen, especially considering I have the most disgusting laugh ever. It was a mix between a dying cat and a pair of untuned bag-pipes.

I found myself enjoying mornings like that to the absolute because they were the only times when I'd actually notice the little things that I couldn't before. My apartment was slightly warm from the sunlight paneling on the windows and heating the space, there were faint sounds of my neighbors' dog's nails clicking against my ceiling as well as the subtle creaking of wood outside of my door from people coming and going, and best of all—there was no rush of getting ready for work. There was just then, and there was a certain peace that mustered inside of me, and It felt truly amazing.

I thought that I would go out and buy some new job-hunting clothes because I would ultimately start looking for a job on Monday. My brother asked me what the point was now that I was 'rich', but being rich through my perspective did not consist of sitting on my ass all day and wasting my life away.

* * *

I never got very many visitors at my apartment. There was Angela, Micah, Jessica, Charles (sometimes), and my mother every new moon. So when my doorbell chimed, I was very put off. I was blow drying my hair so I could barely hear it, and I was so sure that I heard wrong when I peeked directly out of my bathroom to the motionless front door. I clicked my blow dryer once and the noise was immediately ceased.

My eyes were at the door for quite a while, staring at it, waiting for another chime, or knock to show me that there was actually someone there and I wasn't losing my mind, but I heard nothing so my head went back into the bathroom.

_Ding-Dong_

Ok, now I _know_ that I'm not crazy.

_Knock-knock-knock_

_Definitely_ not crazy.

"Coming!" I yelled out the bathroom door and retightened the thick comfy towel around my nearly dry body, rushing to the door and standing on my tip-toes to peek out the aptly-named hole. When my brain processed what my eyes had saw, my heart dropped into my feet.

Edward Cullen was outside of my door, standing there like he would if he was modelling casually in a Calvin Klein catalog. His hands stuffed in his jean pockets, his hair a curly bronze mess on top of his head, he was looking directly into the peephole back at me, dear Lord. I backed a good yard away from the door, my eyes bulging out of their sockets and my hand placed firmly on my gaping mouth.

What the hell was he doing here? What does he want to put salt on my cuts?

So many possibilities presented themselves to me, and I had all of 5 seconds to compose myself before he would begin to think I was holding out on answering the door. Mustering all the courage I could find, I eased towards it and slowly opened it open, the chain keeping it a safe crack. One eyes peeked out straight in front of me, and I learned immediately from my vision of his collarbones that I had to crane my neck up to meet his eyes.

Those gorgeous green orbs stared hauntingly back at me as if I was the absolute vain of his existence.

Even though I cleared my throat beforehand, I still found myself squeaking out, "Mr. Cullen."

"Miss Swan." He hissed to me in an resolutely scornful tone.

Scumbag.

"Err—" Really, what did he want?

"I'd like to speak with you, if that's alright." If a person could have sounded any more unwilling to do anything in the entire world, it would have been hi, and it would have been that situation.

I studied him for just a moment—why the fuck does he need to talk to me? What could he possibly have to say? I was becoming more irritated by the second by my own thoughts. So I closed the door, removed the chain and hesitantly allowed him inside. After I closed the door he looked back at me and choked on the oxygen entering his lungs.

Oh yeah.

I motioned to my mini-sofa wedged in the corner of the room. "You can just wait there while I get ready." I mumbled, silently reveling in my triumph, and then padding to my bedroom.

Creme flip-flops and a flowy yellow sundress is what I settled with wearing, my hair remained freshly blow dried and fell exceptionally around my face.

When I came out he was sitting patiently on the sofa, observing my tiny apartment like it was a circus exhibit.

Bastard.

I loved my apartment, it was me, and it expressed who I was.

I pulled my desk chair in front of him and leaned back, waiting for him to speak his predictably despicable words.

He said nothing. He only stared at me. He didn't even try to speak.

I was so pissed, I don't know what possessed me. I finally broke the silence and spoke first. "What the fuck are you doing at my apartment?"

Anger flooded his eyes, and he looked as if he were about to explode. Hate, rage, confusion, and denial danced across his beautiful face. He stood, and began to pace back and forth.

When he stopped abruptly and looked over to me, I characteristically flinched. I was always a very timid and frail person, thought I didn't always convey it with my behavior.

"Who the hell are you?" He seethed under his breath.

What the hell?

My face was impassive, but my insides were boiling. "I beg your par—"

"Don't fuck with me." He interjected. "What the hell we're you to my father's company? What exactly did you do, god damn it?"

"I was Carlisle's personal assistant. I handled everything from his schedule to his acquisitions."

He looked dumbfounded. "Acquisitions? You managed my father's acquisitions?! He allowed you?"

"He didn't really have a choice, Mr. Cullen. His mind was disintegrating by the hour." I felt guilty for saying that, but it was.

"Then you understand how he subsidized the Takahasa account?" He asked hopefully.

I rolled my eyes hard. "_I_ subsidized that account." I mumbled.

Not quite sure that he even heard what I said. "What about O'Rian & Co.? What did you bribe him with your body to undermine my authority? Robert refuses to budge at all without _your_ input—he's asking for _you _and it's fucking ludicrous, and—"

"He's the last company that you need for expansion, yeah yeah—I know these things." I was becoming irritated. How dare he come to my home and confide in me for his own company like a 5-year-old after he'd just called me a slut and kicked me to the curb? Was he insane? "Why don't you get your _new_ personal assistant to handle all of that bullshit? I don't _work _for you anymore, you dick."

He ignored me. "Have you checked any of your messages?" He asked, motioning to my cellphone on the coffee table. I looked to my cell, and then back at him just as quickly.

"No." I said simply, and didn't even bother to reach for my phone to check.

"Well, do it." He snapped.

I crossed my arms and narrowed my damn eyes. "Fuck no." I could already get an idea from his attitude what the messages were. He'd been calling me and asking me to come back in. But I hadn't checked my voicemail since Monday morning, and I'd barely even used my phone.

He shook his head unbelieving. "Christ." He paused. "You're irrevocably fucking ridiculous." He spat to me in that calm, cool tone.

"Likewise." I countered in a slightly elevated tone without hesitation.

"I believe that we can both concur that I was being reasonable with my decision, Miss Swan..." He remarked.

I stood and put my balled fists on my hips angrily. "And I believe that I just saw a pig fly by my window."

His mouth twitched into an angry smile. "Come back to Cullen, either do or don't. I won't beg you."

"Good, then we've just saved another 10 minutes of baseless conversation then, huh?" I hissed, stomping to the door and slinging it open. "Good day sir."

He was reluctant at first, but then slowly padded over to me, stopping just before the door hinge crooked. He didn't look to me before he spoke. "Just think about it, ok?" He said, and then continued down the hallway.

I shut the door and then leaned against it. That was the most exhausting 5 minutes of my entire life, I felt like it was never going to end.

I'd just been handed the best job i'd ever had back on a silver platter, but what did that consist of? I tallied all of the possibilities 1) I'd have to work for Edward Cullen. Stopped there.

I couldn't work _directly_ under him, most certainly not as his right-hand—we would never get along and he'd probably end up firing me again anyway, but I loved my job. I loved the people I worked with minus Lydia Baker. I loved the work that I did, and I felt like when I was there I never actually worked a day in my life. I longed to return so badly, but at what cost? The price of my return was staring me dead in the eyes, and I was slowly shriveling.

I'd decided to finally head out and do some shopping to cool my head, wandering around aimlessly for hours. I couldn't think straight, and I got so agitated that I ended up at Angela's condo.

She cracked open the door and then swung it open quickly, enveloping me in a crushing bear-hug.

"What's cracking sexy?" She squealed with joy, allowing me entrance. "How was the funeral? I've been calling you, no answers." She pouted.

"Sorry," I said sullenly." Been a bit busy I guess. I mumbled, and settled down on her living room couch.

"Are you okay Bella? You look terrible." She asked cautiously, propping herself right beside me.

I just shrugged. She bit her fingernail and scanned the room. "White wine?" She offered.

"Yes, please." I whimpered, tucking my hair behind my ear.

She poured the wine in a crystal glass and handed it to me. I shook my head and pointed to the bottle, she handed it to me.

"Jeez, Bella. This must be big because I've never seen you chug a whole bottle."

I finished a swig and took a deep breath. "...Cullen offered my job back."

She gasped, and then squealed. "That's great!"

I didn't respond.

Her attitude slowly began to shift downwards. "...That is..._good_...right?"

"I have no clue." I said matter-of-factly.

"I don't understand." She shook her head confusingly.

"You loved working at Cullen."

I nodded once. "But my new boss. He's a mother fucker." My voice was barely a whisper.

Angela elbowed me once. "Bella! _Everyone_ hates their boss! It's nature, babe! You can pass up an opportunity to work your dream job because of one son of a bitch. You'll _never_ find a job."

I looked over to her for a second, and then took another swig of the bottle.

"You just have to suck it up, it'll pay off." She smiled.

"You think so?" I said sullenly, keeping my eyes fixated on the wine bottle.

She nodded, and I took some time to formulate what I wanted to say, attempting to make it sound as ungoading as I possibly could, but it still managed to come out groggy and unintentional. "What about if he's really attractive?" I asked.

She looked as if she couldn't believe I'd said that. I couldn't believe I'd said that. "What?" She asked, craning her neck sideways to hear me better,

"He's really sexy Angie—too sexy actually. I can't think straight when I'm around him." Her mouth dropped open then.

She waited. "Is he really _that—_"_  
_

I didn't hesitate. "Yes." I can't deny myself such obvious truths. Edward Cullen was near god-like. If only he didn't speak—he would have been near-perfect.

"Oh, boy." She said nervously. "Well you can start by sucking his dick." She said as if she were explaining math.

I slapped her shoulder. "Angie!"

"Bella, you can't let material things like a pretty face get you down. You said it yourself—he's an asshole. That's more than enough reason to be emotionally and even physically unattracted to him, right?"

I thought about it for a while.

"You're such a pussy sometimes, Bella. You have got to start learning how to put your damn foot down when it counts." She snips. "Fuck him, fuck his face, fuck his life. This is about _you_." She pokes my shoulder. "And what's good for _you_." She pokes me again. "Now did you enjoy working at Cullen?" She asks.

"You know I did."

"Then I don't even see why we're having this conversation. Go back to working in the place that you love! It's not often you come by a job that makes you feel like you're not even working." She scolded.

"I should go." I said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. "You don't have to leave so soon, Bella."

"No! I should go back to working at Cullen."

She shook her head in disbelief at my revelation. "Yes, yes you should."

"I think I will."

"Do it!"

"I will!" I yelled, setting the bottle on the floor and rushing out of the door.

* * *

When I got back to my apartment, I collapsed on the couch and exhaled deeply.

I rolled my eyes.

"Not a chance in hell."


	4. Four

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My thoughts on returning to Cullen were ever shifting. If I was to go back, I would be relinquishing my pride and practically putting it in Mr. Cullen's hands. His big, muscular, beautiful hands—his devious, evil, grimy hands. My decision would have been much easier if he weren't so damn attractive, and god help me—his eyes. I couldn't bare to _not _think of them that 3 weeks I was job hunting…(didn't get any of them might I add, not even close.) They were just so crystal clear and green, and hazel, and I realize how unintelligible and absurd as I gawk over them like a love struck teenager. I am not, however, one to deny a good looking man when I see him.

That aside, I couldn't go back to him, no matter how much I adored my job, it just wasn't in my cards. I kept myself going by constantly reminding myself, _he called you a whore, he called you a whore, _repeating it over and over in my head. The last thing that I needed was workplace harassment. I needed to establish a higher ground for myself, learn to be my own boss. The idea drifted through my head long enough to be pushed aside. That was until something utterly amazing happened.

It was a Tuesday, and I'd just gotten back from grocery shopping. Considering the fact that I'd been out of work for almost 2 months, I should have been flat broke, and I silently thanked my great grandfather—something I never thought would actually happen.

I stumbled into my tiny apartment and settled all of the groceries on the kitchen counter before hastily unloading everything from the plastic bags and sorting them into my refrigerator and cabinets. My phone began to chime in my purse just as the last of the food was being placed in the salad drawer. I fished it out of the front pocket and checked the caller ID first. I didn't recognize the number, it seemed to be from another—country.

I hit the answer button and pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Isabella!" Carlisle chirped sounding happier as ever.

I smiled immensely wide, he hadn't changed a bit. "Carlisle! How are you? How's retirement?"

"Good, and_ good_." He said, stretching the o's slightly. His jovial, gruffy voice made my heart warm and think about the good ol' days.

"Hey, thanks for notifying me about your leave by the way, I appreciate that." I hummed sarcastically, leaning against the counter.

He sighed, obviously guilty. "Sorry, dear, I had decided the same day I left."

"It's fine," I brushed it off. "No big."

"But that's hardly beside the point anyhow. I heard about what my son did to you."

I rolled my eyes—hard. "You did, did you?"

"I apologize for his behavior." He said, almost _too_ apologetically.

"It's his company now, he was just being reasonable." I tried not to insult his son in front of his though he had become the vain of my fucking existence and was a complete dick fuck.

"No," He disagreed immediately. "He's an arrogant bastard and he doesn't know a damn thing about anything."

I almost coughed on my own spit when he said that, laughing and coughing so hard that it hurt. Carlisle was literally the best boss in the world—there was no denying it.

"He told me that he offered you your job back." That made me stop laughing immediately.

I cleared my throat. "Yes." My voice was small.

"…And you said no?" He added.

My voice was even smaller when I said, "Yes." Again. I had given him a call weeks ago telling him that I had no intention of ever returning to the company so long as he was in charge.

"Good girl." He cheered. Okay—anticlimactic.

My eyebrows pulled together. "You're—proud that I turned down your company?" I asked, confused.

"Am I ever?" He laughed.

"Kay…" I stretched the word, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

There was a lot of background noise like waves crashing, glass clinking, etc before he finally spoke again. "I'd like to offer you a position of the neighboring company Cullen Productions and Communications. Barry died last week of heart failure,"

"Oh, dear. That's awful." I cringed.

"Tragic," He continued. "They need a new CEO, and I recommended you for the job, and well—my word is always a good one." He started laughing his ass off.

My heart dropped into my stomach. "You're offering me CEO of CPC?" I muttered breathlessly, holding onto the words for dear life.

"For a better choice of words here, the job is yours—all I need is a yes."

All of the blood rushed to my head, and I suddenly felt my entire body grow freezing cold. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Wait, what? Am I going to be the CEO of a _company_? And not just any company—CPC, one of the greatest production companied in the east. Period.

With all of the noise jumbling around in my head, I was amazed that I'd managed to utter out "W-why me?"

"Because you're excellent, Miss Swan, and that's all I can say. You've proven yourself to me, and the rest of Cullen that you're a more than worthy candidate. So here is your reward. Now, you'll still be indirectly under my son because the entire company is under his hand, but he's the only one you'll ever have to answer to regarding the big things, all in all, you're your own boss. What do you think?"

I could feel my hands shaking, and my legs buckling underneath me. I bit my lip to stifle a scream, instead I just jumped up and down in place, punching the air like a champion before composing myself again. "Yes, yes I would love that Mr. Carlisle, yes." I sounded like a neanderthal when I spoke, but I didn't care—I was about to be a freaking CEO.

"Then that's where we'll go Miss Isabella." He said back amusingly. "You'll be starting immediately tomorrow, so get yourself some sleep. It's going to be a very, very long day for you dear."

I couldn't bite back the smile that was now beginning to ache my cheek bone. "Thank you." I said in a prestigious voice, a ridiculously English voice, bowing even though he couldn't see me.

With that, he ended the call. I couldn't believe my own self when I lunched my cellphone into the wall and squealed at the top of my lungs.

I ran over to my couch and began jumping up and down, my mahogany hair falling out of its neat pony tail and whipping all over the place. "This is the best day of my life!" I yelled between jumps.

_Thump_

_Thump!_

"Shut up!" A manly voice growled through my thin wall from his side. I plopped down onto the couch, ceasing my jumping at once, but the smile wouldn't subside. A giggle escaped my mouth and I fell back against the arm of the sofa and kicked my feet in the air.

"How?" I asked myself, the smile never leaving my face. "I'm 23 years old—this doesn't happen." I shook my head towards nothing. I suddenly realized that I was about to become one of the youngest CEO's in the world. The fact that Carlisle had put _so_ much trust in me—it was ridiculous, and it made me want to cry, almost.

Then another thought panged in my head—_how will other people react?!_ I'm going to be having 30, 40, and 50 year olds working under me, that will _not _make anyone happy or respectful. What if they all quit because some young girl is their boss now? I'd never be able to live that down—I'd get fired.

Doubt, fear, and scorn danced in my mind for hours as I just lay there on my sofa.

_Shit._

What if—? Oh dear. I pushed myself off the couch and ran over to my cell phone which was now sitting on the floor and miraculously not broken, but then again—I do throw like a girl.

"Hello? Bella?" Jennifer's squeaky voice echoed up the phone, she was obviously anxious to hear from me.

"What would you do if you were offered a CEO position?" I asked immediately, not even bothering to give greetings.

I could feel her staring at the phone like it was on fire. "You've been offered a position as CEO? CEO of _what?_" She demanded.

"CPC." I said simply.

"CPC?!" She screamed. "_The_ CPC? Cullen Industries, CPC?"

I nodded, though she couldn't see me, and waited for her response. "Jeez, Bella. Take the position. What has it been 4 weeks since you've been unemployed?"

"Five," I corrected, leaning against the wall and glancing out the window. "But what if nobody respects me as their boss? I'm so young. What if they think—"

"Bella!" She scolded, and then wrapping my attention around her finger she quietly snipped, "_Fuck, __**EVERYONE**__." _

That left me speechless for a while. Inhaling deeply I murmured, "You're perfect." And then I exhaled, clutching my chest.

"Seriously, Bella—you're always so worried about what the hell people think of you. You never stop to think that maybe you don't _need_ every ones stupid approval. You were born to be a big shot CEO, it's in your blood, dear and this is your shot! Now you get your ass in there, and you be the _best _CEO that you can be. Kick some fucking ass!_"_ She snarled. "Screw them! You're like, the best worker business person ever!"

I smiled softly. "Thank you, Jess."

"Oh yeah! And as for Mr. Idiot pants, show that asshole how much he gave up when he fire you, got it? Kick his ass for both of us! And if he gives you any problems, just give me the word and I'll be right up there with my vise grips."

That made me laugh. I really wished that I could hug her at that point, but telecommunication wasn't allowing it.

"Will do, Jess." I grinned.

"Lunch, tomorrow?" She offered.

"I'll call you with the time." I said.

"Kay! Bye Bella." And the call ended.

She was completely right, I don't need anyone's approval. Carlisle wouldn't have hired me had he believed I was incapable of handling it. I was ready to take that company on—no more Miss Nice Swan. I was going to be kicking ass and taking names—purely vicious.

So could you believe that of all the things that I had to be worried about, the only thing that was _really _worrying me was the least important of all?

_What the hell am I going to wear?_

* * *

Big brown eyes stared back at me as I waited patiently, observing her from head to toe.

I cleared my throat and tapped my pen against my new desk as I leaned back in my comfy chair. "How long have you worked for CPC again?" I asked with one curious eyebrow raised.

"It will be 10 years in June, ma'am." She assured me ever so politely. When she smiled her crow's feet crinkled near her outer eyes.

I blinked once, my eyes never straying from hers. "I see." Looking over her resume for the fifth time, I took note of how dedicated she'd been as a personal assistant to Mr. Mathers, the previous CEO of CPC. She always keeps a safe and steady pace with her work, diligent, she was. She was clean and unscathed, not a single hair out of place—very organized. She was a very happy, smiley woman of 46, and her teeth were so white it was insane. Her pale blonde hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun at the back of her head, and she was dressed for absolute success with her black dress pants and immaculate white blazer. I liked her immediately.

"Well, Mrs. Dawson, from what I've read you're more than capable in your line of work," I stood from my ridiculously expensive desk and padded around to shake her hand. "I'm very happy to have you on my team." I gave her my award-winning smile, and swore that she blushed right then.

"Thank you, ma'am." She nodded, and began out of the office. Just before she closed the doors she looked back at me curiously. "Is there anything that you need Miss Swan?" She asked ever so sweetly.

I shook my head microscopically. "No, thank you." And with that she closed my office door behind her.

I collapsed into the small chaise lounge next to my beautiful floor to ceiling windows and exhaled deeply. My first day was going absolutely perfect so far; Micah welcomed me back with hugs and tears, and a cute little 'Sorry you got fired!' teddy bear, that made me laugh my ass off. Marcus welcomed me with a pat on my back and an under-the-breath 'I told you so'. Everyone else looked at me baffled—dumbfounded even. I was the CEO of one of the greatest companies on the eastern seaboard, and I wasn't even close to 30. Tomorrow I would have an interview with the New York Times—wasn't too excited about that—I'm wasn't good with people.

Nobody seemed to be treating me like a little helpless girl who couldn't take care of myself, and that was all I really wanted from being there, but I knew that good things are usually short lived. 500 million dollars richer, _and_ CEO of a multi-billion dollar company? This reign of good luck would come crashing down around me, and soon. But for just that time, I chose to put it all behind me and relish the good that I'd been dropped into—big mistake.

Isabella Swan, CEO of Cullen Communications and Productions—the best CEO of all time. The thought makes me giggle out loud. I couldn't believe the position that I'd gotten myself in, I guess things really do pay off when you work hard enough.

Doing another inventory of my unworldly circular office, I take note of the deep blue colors of the wall, and the soft velvety white carpet beneath me. The paintings that hung from the wall looked old, and very expensive. I was almost positive that the one on the far right was an original Matisse. All of the windows were squeaky clean and spotless, and the view that they projected was purely unmatched. My huge oak desk was gold rimmed and my brand new name plate laid proudly on the edge near the front in scalding silver:

**Isabella Swan**

**CEO; CPC**

"Finally." I breathed silently. Something has finally went right for me. It seemed gravitationally unreal that after all the mediocrity that I've been suffered to endure these past couple months I'd finally have some slab of right placed upon me. It was unreal, and I was weightless—almost dead from the excitement.

Holding a hand to my forehead, I checked my temperature.

"I'm alive!" I squealed under my breath.

"For now." A painfully spiteful voice hissed from the doorway. My smile couldn't be contained by anything at that point as it spread thoroughly across my face.

Lifting myself from the chaise as gracefully as I could, I turned to face the vain of my existence. "Mr. Cullen." I hummed. He was standing just at the entrance of my door with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"…Miss Swan." He hissed, inching closer as he did.

He stopped just a yard in front of me and it was then I could get a good idea of the absolute hate painted across his features.

I couldn't not. "Fancy seeing you here." I smiled, standing from the chaise and moving behind my desk before settling down in the giant leather chair. He was glaring at me—ironic, but still the same, gorgeous, disconcerting asshole that fired me two months ago. He was wearing a black suit, buttoned up and all. He looks as if he'd just left a photo shoot for Clavin Klein.

I shook the image away from my mind and shrugged. "Ever heard of knocking?" I asked him sweetly.

He looked as if he was about to explode. I could see a small vein protruding from his forehead. His eye twitched slightly and he stormed over to me, pointing an accusing finger. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are," He gritted, his voice low. "But get this—regardless of the power you have in anyparticular space, this company is _mine._" He rested his hand on the desk and moved his face just centimeters from mine. "And so are you. Whether you fail or succeed here—it rests solely in my hands. Keep that in mind."

My jaw hit the floor.

_Son of a bitch. _

"You're out of your mind if you think that I'm the kind of woman who's going to take your bullshit." I snipped. He reeled back and just stared at me as if I was on fire. With my new found courage, I continued. "I don't care who you are, or who you think I am. This may be your _enterprise_, Edward, but this is _my_ company." I said through clenched teeth. "So if I were you, I'd start thinking about giving me some damn respect, huh?" I raised an eyebrow, pointing my same accusing finger to his hard, wide chest. "You don't scare me, Mr. Cullen. You may be used to people quivering under that smoldering gaze but that trail ends here, because I'm not your toy—I'm your subordinate." My eyes narrowed with fire burning scornfully into his green orbs. "Learn some fucking respect, you tool." I hissed, absolutely unafraid.

_Oh, no._

Of course I expected his pot to crack, but god damn was I wrong. The most unexpected thing happened then. He smiled, and it wasn't just any smile either. This smile was completely unguarded, and completely uncharacteristic by what I've witnessed. His beautiful pearls were on full display, and his eyes were practically gilded with neon. For just a few moments, I forgot entirely what I'd hated about him—why he made my life miserable. What the hell was his deal? One minute he's angrier than a bull with a red blanket on its head, and the next he's the most breathtaking human being I've ever laid my eyes on? Disregarding the fact that he's still undeniably gorgeous when he's pissed—even more so then—he's even more gorgeous when he smiles.

I was entirely sure that he didn't possess the ability to conjure positive emotions.

He shook his head disbelievingly and said the most ridiculous thing, "You're strange."

What?

"I beg your pardon?" I managed to stammer out.

"You're just—strange." He said, but that time it was to himself. "There's something not right about you."

"What—" He cut me off with one hand. There he was again, calling me out of the ordinary—what was he even talking about?!

He headed for my door, and with one look back his face had once again turned to granite stone. "Welcome to hell, Miss Swan." He said in a low, sultry voice, and the bastard had the nerve to slam my fucking door behind him.

If blinking profusely could return a person's sanity, I would have had virtue for ages. What the hell was his problem?

_Asshole._


End file.
